Clearing Skies
by MWard
Summary: Because the end of Mockingjay was super abbreviated and I just wanted ONE chapter of how Katniss and Peeta grew back together. So I'm writing a bunch of my own and I thought I'd share. Rated M for some lovin' in future chapters...
1. Chapter 1

Sunlight is streaming through my window when I open my eyes and focus them on the source of my inability to sleep. The yellowish ball of fur is twitching and mewing, catching squeaky little mice in his dreams. Stupid cat. Sometimes I wish he hadn't been so important to Prim so I could give him to one of the district kids or just let him fend for himself. But he's one of the few things I have left of her. He must sense me glaring at him, because he gets up, glares back at me and saunters out of the room.

I sigh and contemplate whether it's worth getting up. It seems so much easier, not having to face the day, staying wrapped in my warm and protective blankets. But my stomach is grumbling in protest and it eventually it wins out. The sun has warmed up my room, but there is still a slight chill in the air, so I wrap my blanket around my shoulders and head down the stairs, catching my reflection in the glass of a picture frame on the way down. The girl who looks back at me almost looks how I remember… hair a bit matted, eyes tired, but less gaunt and exhausted then when I moved back into this house a few months ago. Even my burn scars are healing well, thanks to the creams and lotions my mother sends me each month from District 4. Too bad it doesn't work on the scars inside too.

Greasy Sae must have been here hours ago, leaving a couple of hard boiled eggs and cheese buns under a bowl on the kitchen table so Buttercup couldn't get to them. Peeta must have given her the cheese buns to give to me. He's been back a few weeks, but I haven't really talked to him. I've worked hard to distract myself from thinking about everything that has happened to me, to us, and just looking at him tends to dredge up anxiety that I don't want to deal with. I know I'll talk to him eventually, but I have every intention to put that off for as long as possible.

As I start rolling the egg shells on the table, inevitably comparing the cracking shell to my life, I can see the tips of the primrose bushes Peeta planted out the kitchen window. They're looking a little wilted, and I wince as I remember that I haven't watered them in a few days. I pop a de-shelled egg in my mouth and pull a large bucket out from under the sink. Filling it to the top, I haul the heavy bucket out the door and liberally begin watering the bushes. It's only after I get to the third bush that I realize that I'm apologizing out loud to them and immediately look around to make sure no one is around to overhear me. Maybe having no social contact with people isn't such a good idea. I change my mind when I see that Haymitch is standing at his window and staring at me.

I dump the remainder of the water on the last bush and hurry back to the safety of my house. I hold my breath for a minute, ready to see Haymitch walk to my door, but it doesn't happen, so I walk back into the kitchen to finish the remainder of my breakfast. I'm two bites into my cheese bun when I hear the knock. I pause, wondering if I could just wait it out. The knock comes again, more persistent and with a voice, "Katniss, open the door. I know you're there."

So much for my quiet breakfast.

I open the door and find a somewhat sober looking Haymitch leaning against a post on my porch, one eyebrow raised.

"Are you out of alcohol again, or are you just making sure I still have a stash for you?" I ask.

"Are you planning on putting on clothes, or are you trying to make a fashion statement?" he says, mimicking the contempt in my voice perfectly.

I look down at the oversized nightshirt and tattered gray blanket wrapped around me and shrug. He walks past me into my living room, making himself comfortable in one of the chairs by the fireplace. I turn around so I'm at least facing him, but I leave the front door wide open. The sooner he takes the hint that I don't want him around, the sooner I can go back to eating my breakfast.

Haymitch rolls his eyes, "Shut the door and go get dressed. I'll wait."

The determined look on his face tells me that this is a battle I'm not going to win. Inwardly groaning, I shut the door a little harder than necessary and walk upstairs. I pull on an old pair of pants and a black cotton t-shirt. I decide that since I'm putting forth this much effort, I might as well fix my hair too. It takes me a minute to brush out the tangles, but my hair has grown back in nicely and I'm easily able to put it into a braid. I go back downstairs and lean against the door frame in the living room with my arms crossed.

Haymitch looks pleased, but doesn't say anything. Which is good, because one more sarcastic comment would be the end of the longest conversation we've had in months.

"You haven't been answering your phone," he says casually.

"I don't feel like talking to anyone."

"You also haven't been checking your mail."

My eyes wander over to the rather large pile that has been accumulating on one of the side tables. Haymitch catches my glance and sees the pile. He gets up and starts riffling through it.

"What are you doing? That's not yours! And I read the important ones!" I declare, walking over to remove my neglected mail from Haymitch's reach.

He stops going through my mail. "So you already know that a large group of people from District 13 who are relocating here have been given permission to live in the Victor's Village while they build their homes and find work? And that it includes _all_ the houses in the Victor's Village? But since you clearly check your mail _diligently_, you already filled out and sent back the paperwork requesting to have your house removed from the list of available houses."

"So I'll just send in the paperwork," I mutter.

Haymitch chuckles. "The deadline was last week."

I stifle an urge to throw something at him. "Then why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Should've answered your phone sweetheart."

He walks out the door before my lips can form any of the cuss words I'm prepared to skewer him with. I guess it makes sense. Though there are a few houses rebuilt in town, the houses in the Victor's Village were really the only buildings left standing after the district was bombed. How else are people supposed to restart their lives without a roof over their heads? The selfish side of me wants to continue my life of privacy and solitude, but I can hardly deny shelter to people in need. I'll just make myself scarce.

I dig through the mail and find two battered envelopes with the District 13 logo on them. The first one I open contains the letter explaining the circumstances and the opt-out paperwork. The second, which must have arrived within the past few days, has a list of five people who will be arriving. Tomorrow. I don't recognize any of the names on the list. That's good, because I don't want to feel obligated to play host. It seems like now would be a good time to start getting back into the routine of hunting again, if for nothing else than to avoid my house guests.

My hunting boots have been collecting dust by the front door for a while. I slide my feet into them and grab my father's leather jacket, my bow, and sheath of arrows. I'm glad that I don't need to hide my bow in the woods anymore. But then I think of how much it cost to not have to hide my bow in the woods. And I'm not as glad.

I take a deep breath and head down the road past where my old house used to be. Into the meadow. Up to the fence that the people in our district have spent weeks putting back up to keep out any wild animals. But the electricity is off, will probably always remain off, and there are still holes in the fence that make it relatively easy for me to crawl through. I pull back the rough edges of the opening at the bottom of the fence. And I can't do it. I can't bring myself to go under the fence and into the woods. Even to the lookout spot where I used to meet up with Gale. Gale. I think of him, and it makes me think of Prim and fire and pain.

I think of what Dr. Auralius might say. That maybe I've made enough progress for one day. I've dressed and left the house. It's more than I've done since I've been back. I decide to cut myself some slack and make due with walking along the perimeter of the fence, running my fingers along the cold links, aiming an arrow at a squirrel on the other side but not shooting. I walk for an hour. Two. Three. By the time I decide to head back to my house it's already getting dark and blustery. Greasy Sae will be at my house cooking dinner. She's probably wondering what happened to me since I've been in my bed just about every time she's come by.

Sure enough, the lights in my house are ablaze when it comes into view, and I can smell something delicious wafting out of my kitchen window. As I near my door, I can hear voices coming from inside. One of them is definitely Sae, the other definitely male. Great, Haymitch has decided to invite himself for dinner too. Apparently giving me the third degree for not checking my mail only whetted his appetite for more lecturing. When I open my door, thoroughly prepared with insulting comebacks to anything he could say to me, I realize that the voice doesn't belong to Haymitch. It belongs to Peeta.

I seriously consider quietly exiting the house and walking back to the fence for a few more hours, but the voices have stopped and it's clear that they know I'm here. I put down my bow and sheath and walk slowly to the kitchen. Sure enough, Peeta is sitting at my table, knife in hand, chopping up a pile of potatoes which Greasy Sae is adding to a bubbling pot on the stove. A large plate of puffy bread sits near his elbow. He looks up from his culinary task and gives me a small but nervous smile, seemingly gauging my reaction.

"I was wondering where you were!" Sae exclaims. She seems somewhat excited that I'm at least acting the part of a living and breathing person.

"I just needed some air." It comes out sounding lame, but neither Peeta or Greasy Sae seem to notice. I look at Peeta who is still smiling a little and still looking at me. "Why are you here?" I ask, a little harsher than I mean to.

His smile fades. "I was just going to drop the bread off for you, and Sae was here and asked if I'd help her with the stew. I can leave if you want…"

I feel an instant pang of guilt. I haven't helped Sae cook anything since she started coming by. Or offered. And I'm being rude to Peeta, who's been nothing but kind to me.

"No, it's fine. Thanks for the bread."

I pick up an extra knife and begin carefully cutting some celery into small discs. Sae seems satisfied and after a minute her and Peeta resume their previous conversation about Sae's granddaughter, the weather, how the supply trains are starting to deliver sugar and raisins again… I tune out of the conversation until Sae says goodnight and I see that she's packed up some of her stew into a tureen to take home with her. She usually stays. Panic starts to set in as I realize that she's leaving me alone with Peeta, but I tell myself to pull it together and handle it.

"I'll see you in the morning Katniss," she says as she shuts the door. Peeta pulls two bowls out of my cabinets and ladles stew into each one. He places a steaming bowl in front of me and sits across the table with his own. After a tentative sip, he decides it's good and devours the bowl in a matter of minutes. It is very good. Rich venison stew similar to what I'd buy from Sae at the Hob on a cold fall night. And paired with Peeta's bread, it's one of the better meals I've had in a while.

"I talked to Haymitch today. He's getting a family of four tomorrow. He said that you were taking in people too..." Peeta says quietly.

"Yeah. I didn't know though. Haymitch decided to wait until today to tell me. I think he was punishing me for not answering his phone calls."

Peeta laughs, "I don't think Haymitch has a working phone. Last time I was over he'd pulled it out of the wall again, and I don't think he knows how to fix it."

I make a mental note to find out the next time I see Haymitch. The thought of being able to make fun of him for his lack of technical prowess and self control makes me smile. Peeta looks encouraged by my smile, and I stop immediately. But the tension in the air between us has lessened, and it feels better than I thought to have him around.

"How many people are staying with you?" I ask.

"Five. Including Delly- I guess she wants to start a life here again. It'll be nice to have a friendly face around."

Because I certainly haven't been a friendly face. Or around. Suddenly the thought of warm and available Delly Cartwright coming to stay with Peeta makes me annoyed.

Peeta picks up our empty bowls and washes them out, laying them to dry on a cloth next to the sink. He wraps up the remainder of the bread. He puts on his jacket and heads for the door, fingers idly touching the hems of his pockets.

"Haymitch and I are going to cook a big dinner tomorrow for our guests… I… we wanted to know if you wanted to join us? And whoever is staying with you, of course." The thought of cooking for five strangers while being forced to carry on a conversation with them by myself makes my stomach go cold. Why hadn't I thought of it earlier? Easy decision.

"I'll be there. Thanks."

"Good," Peeta nods.

He walks to the door and hesitates. He turns around, opens his mouth and then shuts it again, deciding against saying whatever had been on the tip of his tongue. "Goodnight Katniss…"

"Goodnight."

He shuts the door behind him, and I watch him walk towards his house. I find myself thinking about him the rest of the night. Not only did he not make me upset, he actually got me to smile. At the expense of Haymitch, but I'll take what I can get. For a while I wonder if he's trying to get a bakery up and running. Then all the things he was going to say to me before he left start running through my head. I put my nightshirt back on and unbraid my hair, pushing all thoughts of Peeta from my head and preparing myself for the battle arena of my nightmares. But as I drift off to sleep, I catch a little part of my mind wishing that I had his arms wrapped around me, warding me from any danger, real or imagined.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sitting bolt upright and my heart is pounding. I don't even remember what I was dreaming, but I'm exhausted. Maybe this is just how my body has adapted to the nightmares… I can block them out, but it doesn't mean I get much rest. At least they're less frequent than they used to be. It's earlier than I usually get up, but I need to get ready for the horde that will be taking over my house.

Sae has done a remarkable job keeping my house looking fairly tidy and clean, but since no one uses the guest bedrooms, they've remained untouched for a while. The three extra bedrooms are fairly sparse, but despite the lack carpeting and much furniture, they still smell a bit musty. I open the windows to let them air out and do my best to shake out the curtains and wipe the dust off the dressers and headboards. All of the beds have mattresses, but I only have one spare set of sheets and a few extra blankets. Hopefully these people are coming prepared.

It takes me most of the morning to clean my house. I didn't intend on cleaning everything, but once the spare bedrooms were done, I felt like I should pick up in the living room, shake out the rugs, stuff my mail into a drawer, even fill a small vase with water and put in a few late blooming fall wildflowers that grow near my back steps. And then because my living room is so clean, I scrub the tile in the bathroom and find a fresh bar of soap to put next to the sink. And then I decide to tackle the kitchen.

Before I know it, Haymitch and Peeta are knocking on my door and telling me that it's time to go to the train station to greet our guests when they arrive. I'm completely grimy and covered in sweat, so I invite the two of them in while I go get changed. Both of them look a little surprised as they take in the sight of my super clean house, but neither comments as they sit on the couch to wait for me.

I put on one of my nicer shirts, a soft grey tunic with long warm sleeves and the same tawny pants I wore yesterday. I splash some cool water on my face, braid my hair, and head back downstairs.

"Ready?" Haymitch asks.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I reply.

As the three of us walk quietly towards the train station, I start feeling really nervous. I've been so preoccupied with cleaning my house, that I haven't given myself the opportunity to think about the implications of having people living in my house. I try not to care about what other people think, but for some reason it's easier to do that when I know them. There's something about people I've never met before that makes me care a little more about the impression I make on them. I try telling myself it doesn't matter what they think of me, but it gnaws at me and makes me uncomfortable.

I'm not at all prepared for the amount of people that get off the train. There must be fifty or sixty people. My mouth goes dry and my hands start trembling a little. I look at Peeta, and even he seems a little off-put by the large group streaming off the train. He catches my eye and gives me a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder, shakes off his disconcerted look and replaces it with one of confidence. It bothers me sometimes how quickly he can adapt himself to any situation.

Just about everyone getting off the train seems jovial and excited, chatting and laughing amongst each other, pulling their bags, suitcases, and even small wagons behind them. They divide themselves into a dozen smallish groups, and each group has a paper with a number on it. My group is number seven, which has assembled a few yards to my left. I catch a few of them looking at me, and they quickly avert their eyes. I decide to assume they just know they will be staying with me, and that they weren't staring at me with some kind of morbid curiosity regarding my past.

I walk over to the group and they shake my hand, introducing themselves. Althea and Talon Perthshire are perhaps in their late twenties with the same red hair and grey eyes. Though brother and sister, they are practically identical and have a tendency to finish each other's sentences. Rooney and Saffron Wellwood are both a little older than the twins, and have a son named Yule who must be about six. His little arms are wrapped around his mother's legs and his dark eyes peek out at me from behind her.

I hear a squeal behind me, and turn around to find myself face to face with Delly who throws her arms around me and starts exclaiming how happy she is to see me and be back home, and how much fun we're going to have… the physical contact is a little overwhelming, but even I have to admit that her enthusiasm and genuine gladness to see me makes me feel almost happy.

The whole crowd of people, worldly possessions in tow, walks down the Victor's Village road, with a handful people siphoning off at each house and going inside. Peeta and Haymitch walk into their houses with their guests trailing behind them, and I am left opening my front door to the five people who will be my somewhat unintended house guests for the next few weeks. The twins take the upstairs spare bedroom next to mine, and Rooney and Saffron take one of the downstairs bedrooms. The extra bedroom is used for storing the various bags and boxes both families brought with them.

As much as I had thought about spending the next few weeks in woods avoiding everyone, I knew that both Greasy Sae and Haymitch would never let me. I had resigned myself to the idea that it would be my job to hold hands and get things organized, map out the roads around town, and show people where the bathroom was. But this couldn't be further from actuality. I am completely useless. Both the Perthshires and the Wellwoods are so self sufficient that within a half hour of them arriving, I am drumming my fingers on the kitchen table with nothing to do.

A knock at my door snaps me out of my boredom trance. It's Peeta, and he's carrying a large burlap laundry bag. "Sae said you might need some extra sheets," he says, dumping the bag into my open arms.

"Yeah, I really only have enough for me. Thanks," I say, hugging the bag to my chest, "How's your group settling in?"

"Good I think. They're pretty tired though, so we're going to postpone our big dinner until tomorrow. Sae's been cooking soup all morning, and we have more than enough for our three houses for tonight. She said she'd bring it by later." I nod, feeling almost disappointed that everything is already taken care of.

Peeta studies my face for a minute and asks, "Do you need anything?" _You_, I think. It actually surprises me a little that this the first thing that pops into my head. Nope, not an answer I'm willing to voice out loud. Instead, I let out something between a snort and a laugh that I'm sure would make Effie cringe. "I wish I did. Then at least I'd have an excuse to go do something. The only helpful thing I've been able to do since they got here is to stay out of their way."

"Same here. I've been baking though, and that helps," he says, "You should hunt. We could use some extra food for tomorrow, and whatever we don't use, there are nine other houses that would benefit from it." Why do I never think of these things? Maybe because I'm still not sure I'm ready to resume my life as it was before, but I don't want to admit that. So I give Peeta a smile, grab my bow and my game bag, and tell him I'll stop by his house later with whatever I catch.

The walk to the fence seems to take no time at all. Though slightly overcast, the sun is shining through the clouds and keeps me warm despite the chilly air. I slide under the fence without even thinking about it. I hesitate for a minute, wondering why it's so easy to do this today but not yesterday and decide that I should't overanalyze it. Maybe it's as simple as people needing me to provide them with food.

The leaves on the trees are turning various shades of brown and orange, and many of them have already fallen. I try to remember when they started changing, and I can't recall. I've wasted too much time holed up in my room. The dry leaves and thick underbrush that carpet the ground make walking quietly challenging, but the forest is teeming with animal sounds, promising a fruitful hunt.

My aim is off. I spend a little while practicing on trees until I think I've gotten the hang of it again, and it comes back to me. The snares are still where Gale and I left them, unset, but for whatever reason my knot tying ability isn't rusty at all. Within three hours, I have two rabbits, three squirrels, and a turkey stuffed into my game bag. I also find a bunch of chestnuts which I unceremoniously stuff into my pockets and the bottom of my bag. Not bad for being my first hunt in at least a year.

I make my way back to the fence and pull myself and my game bag under it. It's very late in the afternoon, but something in me wants to visit the site of my old house before I go back. Maybe I just need to reassure myself that it's still there, like a memorial to my old uncomplicated life.

Nothing's changed. It's still a scorched foundation of stone and ash. There's nothing left to take from it, since we had already moved all of our belongings into my the Victor's Village house long before the district was attacked. I hear a rustling behind the foundation and let an arrow fly into the fourth squirrel of the day. As I remove the arrow and add the squirrel to my ever-growing stash of food, a thin piece of charred pink material sticking out from a pile of leaves catches my eye. I make my way over to the pile and attempt to pick up the material, but when I pull, it doesn't budge. _Strange_, I think, and push the leaves out of the way to see why it's stuck.

It takes me a minute to process what I see. White bones and patches of fur. And the remnants of a silky pink ribbon, frayed and burned, and tied just underneath the skull of what can only be Prim's goat, Lady. My heart starts racing and I can't breathe. I start choking trying to take in deep gulps of air, and I can hear myself making some kind of awful noise that sounds like I'm being strangled. I need to get away, so I crawl to the other side of the foundation and throw up what little breakfast I ate this morning.

I sit there for what seems like an eternity, arms around my legs, rocking myself back and forth, trying to even out my breathing. When I feel less lightheaded and my heart stops pounding, I do the only thing I can think of doing- I start digging a hole in the ground. It seems fitting that Lady would be buried here anyway, in the same grave site that my old house and my old life are buried in. I don't even have a shovel but I alternate between using my hands and using a flat stone from the foundation. There hasn't been a hard freeze yet, so the ground is still soft enough to make a shallow grave. Still, dirt imbeds itself in my fingernails and little rocks gouge my hands. By the time I'm finished, my hands are so stiff, scratched, and cold that I can barely feel them, and I am completely covered in dirt.

I carefully pick up Lady's remains and place her in the grave. I untie the ribbon, placing it in my pants pocket, and cover up what's left of my sister's beloved goat with cupped handfuls of dirt. Filling the grave takes a quarter of the time it took to dig it. It's dark when I'm finished, and I place the flat stone on top of the grave site to mark where it is. I feel like I'm drugged. Everything I do seems sluggish and oddly dreamlike.

I don't remember walking back to the Victor's Village. I barely remember the look on Delly's face when she opened Peeta's door and saw me standing there, ragged and dirty, clutching the game bag with bloodied hands. I do remember Peeta trying to pull me inside, but all those people are standing there looking at me, and I don't want to be near them. With an exasperated noise, Peeta pries my fingers off my bag and sets it on the floor. Then he scoops me up and carries me up the stairs. I can hear him talking to me, but it sounds like he's really far away.

"Katniss? What happened? Did you fall or something? Look at me… Katniss?" I focus on his lips moving. His hand on my face trying to force me to pay attention to him. The curl of blond hair that falls carelessly over one of his eyebrows. "You need a haircut," I tell him.

"And you need shower. Can you handle it from here?" he asks. I'm vaguely aware that I'm sitting in Peeta's bathtub. But I'm not really sure what he's asking of me, and I stare at him, trying to figure it out.

"Oh-kay. We're going to get you cleaned up, alright? Let's get this off you…" Peeta says, as though talking to a child.

My boots are the first to go. He peels the dirty tunic off of me, and carefully unbuttons and removes my pants, which are not only covered in dirt but now sport gaping holes at the knees. Shivering in my underclothes, he turns on the bathwater. The hot water burns at first, but starts to feel good as I regain warmth in my extremities. Suddenly I'm fully aware of where I am and remember Lady and digging the hole with my hands. Tears start streaming down my face and I can't stop them.

"Kat- what's wrong? What happened?" he asks. But I can't put it into words. I say the first benign thing that comes to mind, "I got dirt on you," and I start crying even harder. Somehow, Peeta seems to connect the mud that covers his shirt and arms with the reason I'm so upset.

"No, Katniss, it's fine… it's okay, see," he takes off his shirt and throws it into the pile of dirty clothes that has accumulated on the floor, " I can get clean too." He takes off his trousers and is left standing in a pair of dark blue boxers. He steps into the bath, shutting off the water and sitting down behind me. He cups his hands and begins dripping the warm water on me, sloughing off mud that runs in rivulets down my arms and into the bath. Then he unbraids my hair and after wetting it with his hands, massages in shampoo that smells just like his hair. His fingers caress my scalp as shampoo bubbles slide down my back. Every now and then I hear him murmur, "it's alright" in my ear.

The warm water and the sound of his voice calms me. It takes a while, but I stop crying and my mind feels clearer. I turn around so I'm facing Peeta, meeting his eyes. He's looking at me with a mixture of concern and unanswered questions, but simply says, "hi." His hand reaches up and gently wipes what can only be a muddy smear on my forehead. A little shiver runs down my body.

"I found Lady. She's gone," I whisper. My emotions threaten to boil over again, but I steel myself against them and force them back down.

Peeta is quiet, and I realize that he's trying to place where he's heard me mention Prim's goat before. I forget sometimes how twisted his memories are. But he seems to recall it, and says slowly, "Lady was the goat you bought for Prim. You told me the story of how you got her when we were in the cave…"

"Real," I say, before he has the chance to ask.

He doesn't offer me his apologies or condolences. Instead, he just takes one of my hands and starts cleaning the grime out of the cuts and scrapes. When he's finished, he starts on the other one. The water is starting to cool, and I'm thinking about just drawing more hot water so we can sit in the bathtub for hours. A knock at the door reminds us that there is only one bathroom in a house full of people, and that we need to vacate as soon as possible.

I pull myself out of some of the dirtiest water I've ever seen, and Peeta does the same. It's then that I notice he's turned a slight shade of pink and his eyes are fixated on the soap dispenser. There can't be too many reasons why Peeta would do this, and sure enough, my suspicions are confirmed when I see that my thin undergarments leave absolutely nothing to the imagination when soaked with water. I do my best to cover myself with my arms.

"Peeta?"

He's still staring at the dispenser. "I'll get you something to wear…"

He disappears out the door, shutting it behind him. A minute or two passes and he comes back in with a towel and a bundle of clothes. He hands them to me and quickly turns to leave, but in the mirror I catch him taking in the sight of me and shaking his head before he closes the door. Clearly averting his eyes was far more for my comfort than his.

I towel the water out of my hair and take off the undergarments, hanging them to dry over the shower curtain pole. Peeta's left me with a pair of pants that tie at the waist, which fit me well enough. The shirt, while very comfortable, is large and hangs off me. I'm not sure about the pants, but the shirt definitely belongs to Peeta. I feel a little weird wearing his clothes, but what other choice do I have at the moment? Besides, it smells like him, and that's almost always given me an indescribable sense of security.

The bathroom is immediately occupied by a girl of about twelve, who shoots me an irritated look as soon as I open the door. I guess I'm good at making friends everywhere I go.

Peeta's not in his room, so I go downstairs. Someone's lit a fire in the living room fireplace and the whole room is toasty and glowing. Everyone seems to be in the kitchen, so I round the corner and stand by the door frame. Delly, Peeta, two older men, and one young woman with long dark hair stand around the table chatting. The three people I don't know cease talking immediately and look at me, probably trying to figure out what my current mental state is. Delly grabs two bowls, pours soup into them and hands them to Peeta. He shoots her a grateful look and walks toward me, indicating with a nod of his head that we should eat in the living room.

We sit on the floor in front of the fire, backs pressed up against his couch. Our shoulders are touching, and we sip our soup and watch the little flames waiver and spark. It's funny how after all this time, watching fire doesn't really bother me, even though it probably should. Peeta must be thinking the same thing because he keeps his eyes on me, looking for any signs that I'm going to relapse into the catatonic state I was in earlier. But I don't, and after a while, he seems to relax.

"I'm sorry for… you know… for how I've been," I say to him after a while. Now seems as good a moment as I'll get to clear the air and try to repair some of the damage between us.

His words come out in a rush, "You have nothing to be sorry about. _I'm_ sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry… I shouldn't have pushed you to go out, or just drop in to your house because I wanted to see you. It's not fair to you, and I don't want-"

"Stop," I say, before he can devalue every action he's ever taken regarding me. And he stops. I choose my words carefully, "I don't want to be the half person I've been since I came back here. I want to feel better, feel whole or alive or anything but how I've been feeling. And I don't think I can do that by shutting you out."

I've never been great at putting into words how I feel, but I think I've managed to express my feelings accurately to Peeta. He accepts what I have to say with a smile, and doesn't try to turn himself into the reason why we've been so distant. We spend the rest of the evening talking about little things, like how one of the men staying with Peeta plays the fiddle, and how turkey I caught should be cooked. At some point in the evening, my head ends up in Peeta's lap, and he plays with my damp hair as it dries by the fire. One by one, I hear the house guests retire to their rooms for the night. No one bothers us.

I drift into sleep, lulled by comforting hands and the warmth of the fire. When I wake up, it's still dark outside and I'm wrapped in a blanket on the couch. Peeta's sleeping in the armchair next to me. I'm dismayed by the loss of bodily contact with him, but given his penchant for thinking he's pushed me too much, I'm hardly surprised.

I feel bad that I've completely abandoned the people staying at my house, and hope that Greasy Sae had the good sense to bring them the soup she made for dinner. I get up and kiss Peeta's cheek, offering him silent thanks for taking care of me. He barely stirs. I grab my dirty clothing out of the bathroom, put on my boots and head out the door. Every part of me protests at the thought of leaving to go back to my cold empty bed, but I feel somewhat obligated to at least pretend to play the part of the host.

The empty pots and bowls in my kitchen indicate that Sae has not forgotten to bring by her soup. Relieved and feeling less guilty, I strip off my pants and climb into my bed. I know that I won't have a good excuse to continue wearing Peeta's shirt tomorrow, but for tonight it stays wrapped around me.


	3. Chapter 3

**I have more written, I promise! I'll try to add another chapter this weekend... :)**

* * *

I get up early to redeem myself for being absent yesterday, and find that Greasy Sae is already in my kitchen cooking breakfast.

"Ah! Glad you could be here! Wasn't sure what happened to you last night," Sae says archly.

"Sorry. I was hunting, and time kind of got away from me," I say, hoping to sound apologetic enough that she doesn't question me further.

"Oh, good," she says, "I'm pulling everything together for the dinner tonight, so if you want to give me some of what you've caught, I'll prep it."

"Sure," I say, and realize that my game bag is still at Peeta's. "I'll go grab it…"

I don't knock on Peeta's door, I just quietly open the door. Though I'm pretty sure the bag had been by the door last night, it isn't now. I guess I won't be as unobtrusive as I hoped. I hear low voices coming from the kitchen. Haymitch and Peeta are deep in discussion, and I hear Peeta say something like, "and was just gone" before he sees me by the door and stops talking. Haymitch turns around, and seeing me, says in an overly loud voice, "Well, if you need any more… towels… you know where to find me. Oh, good morning Katniss." I narrow my eyes at him as he walks out.

Haymitch is rarely polite to me, and towels are about the last thing anyone would want to borrow from him. Ever. It wouldn't have been more obvious that I was the topic of their conversation if they had flat out told me. It hit me that I hadn't considered how Peeta would react to waking up and finding himself alone this morning without explanation.

"I left my bag here…" I say.

"It's on the back steps. I thought it should stay cold," he says, having trouble hiding disappointment from his voice.

We're both silent for a minute. Clearly, I need to explain my actions. "I didn't want to leave. I just thought I was being rude leaving everyone at my house by themselves for all of yesterday."

My words seem to ease something in Peeta's mind. "Do you mind if I come by then? Later, I mean? We could bake something for tonight," he asks.

My baking skills are dubious at best, but if Peeta is there to walk us through the process, I doubt anything would turn out badly. Badly like the time I tried to make a cake for Prim using honey that Gale and I had found and our tesserae grain. Or the time I traded two rabbits for what I assumed was flour… it's amazing how similar plaster dust looks. Besides, the thought of spending more time with Peeta lightens some of the heaviness I've had in my chest lately. It occurs to me how much I've hated being alone. "Yeah, I'd like that," I say, and it brings a genuinely happy grin to his face.

I grab my bag and head back to my house, where Sae is waiting impatiently. She pokes around in the bag and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as to what she's going to make with it's contents. She tells me she'll be back tonight with everything, and that she's bringing her granddaughter with her. The twins and Rooney are out the door within an hour to start looking for build sites for their houses. Saffron stays here with Yule. I guess her and Rooney decided to alternate days watching him rather than try dragging him along with them.

I throw my dirty clothing from yesterday into the hamper, taking the remnants of the ribbon I saved out of my pocket. I run it through my fingers, waiting for the choking sadness to creep into my chest, but it seems to have disappeared. The ribbon is just a scrap of fabric my sister once touched. She's touched a thousand things in this house, and I don't get weepy every time I look at the doorknob to the bathroom or touch the cloth napkins we used on special occasions. I have to keep perspective, so I tie the ribbon to one of the pulls on my dresser to remind myself of this. I also fold up Peeta's clothing from yesterday to give to him when he comes by.

As promised, Peeta shows up around noon, large box of baking materials with him. He pulls a large bowl from one of my cabinets, and immediately starts measuring out flour and water, cracking eggs, adding in something he calls 'yeast'. He lets me drizzle honey into mixture but gives me a mock-disapproving look when I start licking it off my fingers. We mutually decide to add in raisins and walnuts, and he shows me how to knead the sticky concoction. I don't get the hang of it too quickly, and before I can protest, he stands behind me, flour covered hands over mine, and starts rhythmically moving my fingers and pushing the heals of my hands into the dough.

The sudden closeness is unexpected but not unwanted, and I let myself relax and lean back into him a little. He rests his chin on my shoulder, and I turn my head so we're nose to nose. A flood of warmth rushes through me, and I want to kiss him. I'm about to actually, when I see two somewhat familiar dark eyes staring at me from the door.

"Hi there. It's Yule, right?" I say. I get a little nod from him.

Peeta smiles indulgently at him. I swear he loves kids more than anyone I've ever met. And I've met a lot of people. "You know, we could use some help making this bread. Do you think you could help us? It's _really_ important," he says, making it sound more like he's asking for a volunteer for a secret mission or something.

The little boy nods his head enthusiastically, and runs to where we're standing. Peeta picks him up and sits him on the top of table. It turns out that Yule is actually much better at kneading the dough than I am, and Peeta shows him how to make little dough animals and gives him a small piece to play with. He forms the rest of the dough into several loaves and puts them in the middle of the table so they can rise before we bake them. Yule eventually hops down from the table and runs off to show his mother the dough squirrel he made.

"You're _covered_ in flour," Peeta laughs, eyeing the white powder that has crept up past my elbows and ended up all over my shirt and in my hair.

"So are y-" I start, but realize that he only has a little on his hands.

"Do you need me to help you clean up this time?" He asks, a bit mischievously.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "That depends. Do you plan on sneaking looks at me when _you can accidentally see through my clothing_?"

His face flushes a little, but he doesn't miss a beat when he claims to have no idea what I'm talking about. He's such a good liar, I might have believed him if I hadn't seen it for myself. I keep my eyes trained on him until he breaks down under the scrutiny, muttering that he "couldn't help it." For some reason I find his admission terribly satisfying.

By the time we've cleaned ourselves and the gigantic mess we've made on the table and scrubbed out the mixing bowl and measuring cups, the bread is ready for baking. Peeta puts the loaves in the oven, and tells me to pull them out in an hour. Our feast is taking place at Haymitch's, of all places, and it seems that everyone from our three houses is going. I'm bringing the bread, and Peeta's bringing some pastries and cookies he made at his house. I'm sure Greasy Sae will have turned all the game I caught into something glorious. Haymitch will probably supply some wine. If he has any left.

Peeta's hand brushes against mine. "See you later?" he asks.

"See you later," I say.

After an hour I pull the bread out of the oven. It smells amazing and is cooked to golden-brown perfection. I'm tempted to tear a piece off of one and just start eating it, but I have too much pride in how well it came out and I want to show off my new-found cooking skills. Even if they're more Peeta's skills than mine. I even feel lighthearted enough to take a little more care with my appearance and put on one of my favorite dresses- a pretty melon colored frock with sleeves that end just above my elbows and a soft cascading skirt. Of course, it's one of Cinna's. Though my heart still aches each time I think of him, I always feel like he's with me when I'm wearing something made by his hands.

I can hear the fiddle playing as soon as I step outside my house, large basket of bread in my arms. Haymitch's house looks and sounds more alive than I've ever seen it. Lights burn brightly, I can hear laughter and singing, and the aromatic scents of meat and wine float out his front door when he opens it. Seems the party started without me. Haymitch looks up and down at my choice of attire and gives me a thumbs up, which I find kind of patronizing so I scowl at him until he drops his hands to his sides. I have to walk through a crowd of people dancing to get to the food table. I recognize Delly and the people living at my house, Sae and her granddaughter, and a couple of the those living with Peeta. The rest are unknown to me.

Sae has laid out a feast fit for the Capitol… there are numerous pots of soups and stews, and a giant platter with the roasted turkey in the middle, surrounded by chestnuts and turnips in some kind of gravy sauce. Dozens and dozens of savory biscuits, cookies, and gooey pastries line the spaces between Sae's layout. There's just enough space at the end of the table for my offerings, and I see that someone has even brought out a few jars of jams and preserves to go with them.

"Beautiful," Peeta whispers in my ear.

Beautiful isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe loaves of bread, but then again, I'm not Peeta.

"Yeah, they look good. I guess we won't really know until we eat them though…" I say. Peeta looks at the ceiling and shakes his head, and I get the distinct impression that he isn't complimenting the bread. He grabs us some plates and we set to work filling our plates with everything we want to try. Which is literally everything. Greasy Sae has not disappointed in her choice of recipes. And the bread that Peeta and I made is as good as it looks.

We seat ourselves on a bench with a gray haired woman who is living with Haymitch, and listen to the fiddler play an old song from our district about a coal miner's son and a girl from the market. It's one of our more upbeat tunes, and simple to learn the words. By the second chorus, just about everyone has joined in and people are linking arms and spinning in circles. It reminds me of one of the few happy moments in 13 when Finnick and Annie were married and everyone was celebrating. It's a bittersweet memory, and I try not to dwell on it too long.

The spices in the turkey make my mouth dry, and I ask Peeta if he wants something to drink. He does, so I grab two mugs and go to the kitchen to pour us some water. When I return, Peeta's not on the bench anymore. I figure he's gone back for a second round of food, but he's not at the table either. He's dancing, arms linked with the pretty dark haired girl I saw at his house the other night. My stomach drops out from under me and I feel a prickling heat start to rise from my chest to my cheeks. I realize that my face must be flushing, and I make a beeline for the back door.

The cold air offers some relief, but my mind is reeling with unsettling thoughts. I'm not even sure why really. People dance. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. But I feel almost violated, like some valuable possession has been stolen from me. Maybe it is something. Maybe I've been so self-absorbed in my own misery that everyone else's life has just moved on. Like Peeta's life. Moving on to the brunette. Who knows? She's been there a few days, which is plenty of time to get to know someone, to decide if you're interested.

I'm alternating between mentally picturing what Peeta's and Brunette's kids will look like, and taking her out with an arrow when no one's looking. Somehow I doubt I'll get away with another assassination unscathed. Not that I actually want her dead. I'd just prefer her gone. Or ugly. I'm not too picky. But I also feel like it's not my place to make that decision for Peeta. Let's face it, I've wasted so much of his life with our fake relationship that I can hardly blame him for wanting something that's real from the start. Maybe the only thing we have left is friendship.

The back door flies open and Peeta practically runs down the steps, unable to see me in the darkness. He looks around frantically. "It's okay you know," I say softly, and he turns around at the sound of my voice. His eyes must adjust to the dark, because he walks to where I am crouched up against the house, kneeling so we are face to face.

"What's okay?" he asks.

"You. Moving on," I say, desperately trying to avoid betraying any hint of sadness in my voice, and failing.

Peeta lets out a chuckle, "And you think that I should move on. Right when you and I are picking up the pieces, I should just throw it away. To be with Karina, a girl that my brother went out with multiple times, and then came home and told me every sordid detail of _everything_ that went on between them…"

I am such a fool. It comes rushing back to me. I remember the dark haired girl from before the war and the reapings. I remember her practically hanging herself off of every available merchant's son in the district. Especially Peeta's brother. Knowing Peeta, he's probably spent hours reminiscing about his family with this girl, while she's taken the conversations as a go-ahead to seduce him at the first available opportunity.

Embarrassed, I put my hands on my face. "I'm sorry," I say, my words somewhat muffled through my fingers, "I just thought… I thought…" I can't finish my thoughts.

His fingers reach out through the dark and touch my cheek. "It's always you. Always been, always will be," he says simply, and leans in and gives me a chaste kiss on my lips. But it's not enough, it doesn't satisfy, and I wrap my arms around him and our mouths meet again but this time with an urgency and a heat we've only experienced once or twice before. My lips part and I feel the tip of his tongue flick tentatively on to mine. He tastes like honey and rosemary, and each kiss is deeper, more exploring than the last, and I feel as though the growing need in me can't be sated by lips alone.

The back door flies open again, only this time it's Haymitch walking down the back steps, peering into the dark and calling out both of our names. Peeta lets out a curse under his breath. We disentangle ourselves from each other and Peeta pulls me to my feet. Haymitch finally sees us and squints at us suspiciously. "You kids alright?" he asks.

"Yes, we're fine. Just, uh, needed some fresh air. We were just about to head back in," Peeta says quickly.

Haymitch is definitely more than a little skeptical, but only clears his throat and walks back into his house. Peeta takes my hand in his. "Shall we?" he asks, holding out his free hand towards the door, and we go back inside. Though I thought I had made my initial exit quietly, it's abundantly clear that between me, Peeta, and Haymitch all running outside one by one in a span of five minutes, that we've made quite a spectacle of ourselves. No one is rude, but I see more than a few people glance in our direction trying to figure out what happened. Of course, that's excluding Peeta's dance partner who now stares me down blatant contempt written all over her perfect face. But I'm still holding Peeta's hand and basking in the warmth of our kisses so I don't care two hoots what she thinks.

The rest of the night passes quickly. The fiddler stops his playing so he can eat, and the families with sleepy young children trickle out and put them to bed. I'm pretty sure Karina stomped out hours ago, and Delly gave me a little wave and smile as she left. The food has all but disappeared and the fire burns low, casting strange shadows on the wall and the only person left is Haymitch, passed out in an armchair, fingers wrapped tightly around the last remaining bottle of wine. Clean up can wait until tomorrow. Not that Haymitch will bother.

Peeta walks me home, up the stairs, into my room. Unspoken, we've both decided one thing- we won't be apart anymore. Exhausted, we fall into my bed, his chest against my back, legs pressed against mine. The shared warmth of our bodies relaxes every one of my muscles, and when he wraps his arms around me I can't help but let out a sigh of contentment. The little piece of happiness I've been chasing has finally been caught.

Our arrangement continues nightly, though we are as inconspicuous as possible. We go to my bed once everyone's asleep, and Peeta returns to his house before anyone gets up. Our previous relationship has been so public, I think we both just need time to have it to ourselves and the last thing we want is people gossiping about how we're sharing my bed. Again.


	4. Chapter 4

**As promised! :)**

* * *

"I think you should come with me today," I say, swirling the milk and sugar around in my coffee and watching Peeta as he pulls a tray of raspberry jam filled biscuits from the oven. It's the fourth time this week he's knocked on my door in the morning, offered to cook breakfast, and acted like he hasn't seen me since the day before. I don't think anyone has caught on yet. It's Sunday, and a welcome day off for anyone busy building their houses or businesses during the week. With everyone hanging around my house all day, it also means that I'd rather not be home.

"Are you so bored out there that you need someone to scare away the game for you? Like an extra challenge?" Peeta asks wryly, referring to his ability to sound like he's breaking branches in half even when he's barefoot and walking in grass. Or as barefoot as he can be with his leg the way it is. It's really not his fault at all, but I know he feels like a hinderance whenever he's around while I'm hunting.

"I was just going to check the snare lines, and I thought it'd be nice if I had company," I muse, ignoring his question but smiling in spite of it. Really, I have somewhat ulterior motives, though it would be good to stock up on fresh meat from the snares. It occurred to me a few nights ago that I've never taken Peeta to one of the most sacred places known to me, the lake where my father and I spent so many days fishing and swimming. Gale's been there. I even brought an entire camera crew there once, but not Peeta. I've just never had the chance.

But Peeta seems to like the idea, and packs up lunch and some blankets for a picnic into my game bag. We bundle ourselves up with scarves and itchy woolen hats to guard against the cold, and I let Saffron know that we're going into the woods for the day. I take my hunting gear just in case, and Peeta slings my bag over his shoulder.

The air is frigid and damp, and the sun has only melted away some of the lingering frost on my porch. Fortunately, it only takes a few minutes of walking to get our blood flowing and the temperature doesn't feel too bad. It's late fall, and I know that I can count on one hand the number of weeks we have left before the woodland animals start hibernating and we'll mostly have to make due with the butcher meat from the marketplace. It was never too hard to feed a family of three from what we caught in the woods, but any more than a dozen people is near impossible.

When we get to my usual weak spot at the fence, I slide through it and pull the edges up for Peeta to do the same. He looks somewhat apprehensive, but he pushes the bag through and climbs underneath after it. We talk a little as we make our way along the trek, stopping to bag the game entrapped by the snares and resetting them. It's a good run and we have a couple of rabbits and squirrels, and even a woodchuck to show for it. After a while, the exertion it takes to continue hiking towards the lake makes it difficult to talk, but our silence still feels comfortable. Peeta doesn't ask where we're going, but I know he's curious as to why it's been over an hour since we've stopped to check a snare.

We are very close to the lake when the first snowflake lands on my cheek, burning cold and sliding down the side of my face. I look up and see that the sky has turned very grey. Flurries come all the time this late into the autumn, but it doesn't actually worry me until the lake is in sight and skies open up and start dumping massive flakes on top of us. Within minutes, I can barely see three yards in front of me and I take Peeta's hand because I don't want to lose him. It's easy to get disoriented in the snow. I've been to the lake so many times that my sense of direction is pretty good, and I'm able to guide us to the little cement house that sits on the lake front. Guiding us home is going to be another matter.

The house has definitely been used since the last time I was here. It has only one remaining glass window that lets a little light in, and although the glass in the three other windows had long since disappeared, someone has gone through great lengths to construct wooden boards that fit over them to keep out the elements. After 12 was bombed, I can imagine that more than one person ended up calling this place home for a while. There is still a sizable pile of seasoned firewood and kindling in the corner. In all seriousness, this is better than anything I could have hoped for when trapped in the woods in the middle of a blizzard.

"Umm… did you know this was here? Because it seemed like you knew this was here…?" Peeta says, a little confused.

"I was going to tell you about this once we were here. I wasn't really planning on the snow," I say. I motion him to the one remaining window and point to the frozen lake, barely visible now. "When I was little, my father and I used to come here in the summer. This is where he taught me to fish, forage for plants, how to swim. It was kind of our sanctuary, just me and him, and I wanted to take you here. It just feels right that you should know this place too."

I feel Peeta's arms circle around my waist and his breath on my neck. "I wish I could have known him. I know I would have liked him."

I smile at the thought. "No one could help but like him. I'm sure he would have loved you."

The snow is coming down hard, and it's pretty clear that it will be a while before it lets up. Despite the shelter from the snow and wind, it's very cold in the room, so we start building a fire. I breath a sigh of relief as my fingers find the tiny box of matches that I try to keep in my coat pockets. I hadn't remembered to take one today, but I must have left this one in from last year. Peeta has already made a pile of the kindling in the fireplace and stacked some wood on top, and I strike one of my matches and let the tiny flame envelop the little pieces of sticks and bark.

I start laughing when my stomach grumbles and I realize that not only do we have shelter and a fire, we also have a weeks worth of food. It's almost ridiculous. No, it _is_ ridiculous. This could probably go down on record as being the easiest time anyone has ever had trying to survive the elements in the middle of the woods. I pull a loaf of fresh nutty bread and a piece of cheese wrapped in butcher paper. I hand these to Peeta and start dressing the woodchuck, cutting the meat into cubes with my hunting knife and skewering them onto a thin stick so we can roast them over the fire. It doesn't take very long, and we even heat the cheese on top of the bread and add the meat, folding it over so we have hot sandwiches.

After our meal, there's really not much to do except wait for the storm to pass. It's almost evening, and even if the snow stops there's no sense in trying to hike home in the dark. I'm sure everyone back at our houses will be worried, but there's nothing we can do. I curl up on the blankets we brought and watch the fire and Peeta, who has collected several kindling sticks and is whittling the ends into points. He puts one end in the fire and waits until it starts turning red and smoking before he pulls it out. The end changes from crimson to black and he rubs it on the floor, leaving a long grey streak. A smile crosses his lips. He puts the ends of the rest of the sticks at the edge of the fire where they can smolder until he needs them.

"Don't move," he says, and starts sketching my reclining form. I love watching his face and his hands when he's drawing. It's kind of like watching him make bread, except he seems like he's half present and half inside his head when he's holding a pencil. Or a burned stick. I watch my face take shape, strands of hair straying across my forehead and cheek. A hand, relaxed and upturned. The soft curve of my waist where it meets my hip. This is how he sees me. I'm so focused on the drawing that I don't see Peeta reach behind his back to pull another sharpened stick out of the fire. It's only when I hear him gasp and clutch at his hand that I realize he's burned himself.

I jump up and run to the door, opening it and scooping up handfuls of snow for drawing out the heat and easing the pain. From what I can see of his hand, it doesn't look too bad, but from bitter life experience I know how painful burns can be. I walk towards him, prepared to lay the snow on his injured hand, but I stop short. Peeta is muttering to himself and staring at me like I'm a wild animal, about to attack him. _No!_ I think. _Not now! _Whenever Peeta's had one of his flashbacks or episodes or whatever they are, there's always been other people around, people who can help calm him or at least physically subdue him if he can't regain control of himself. I'm on my own.

He's become the other Peeta, the one I haven't seen in months, the one that I thought might be completely gone. The muttering stops, and he walks towards me, harshly pushing me up against the wall, all the warmth in his blue eyes gone, his pupils dilating in hatred or whichever vile emotion the Capitol wanted him to feel with the tracker venom. The fingers on his uninjured hand grip my arm so painfully that little black specks start flying around in my vision, and no amount of pleading his name helps to extricate me. So I do the only thing that seems to work, the only thing that's ever really worked. I kiss him with as much passion as I have, pressing my lips to his unyielding ones, trying to break my way into his mind. The pressure of his pushing me against the wall eases, but his hand refuses to release my arm. I can't lose him. "Peeta.. please, look at me. Peeta… I love you. Come back…" I whisper.

His breath is ragged and his pupils dilate again. A wave of fear overtakes me as I think that maybe I haven't brought him back, and besides trying to actually fight him off, I'm out of options. But his iron grip on my arm has loosened and he starts kissing me back with a desperation I didn't even think he was capable of. His lips move from my mouth to the edge of my jaw, down the side of my neck to my collarbone, and all I can do is grasp around his shoulders to keep myself steady. The trail of kisses leave their own kind of fire behind, and despite the fear that is still making my heart pound, I want more, I want all of him.

Emboldened by these new sensations and the enveloping desire I'm feeling, I start unbuttoning Peeta's shirt. He comes to a dead halt. He's practically panting, but he still manages to gasp out, "What are you doing?"

I try not to groan. _Oh, I just thought now would be a good time to pull all of our clothes together and go launder them out on the frozen lake. What do you think I'm doing, Peeta? _I don't say it out loud, but I give him a look that indicates exactly what my intentions are.

Peeta considers me carefully. "Are you sure? This is what you want?" If I had any doubts at all about whether or not he was back in control of himself, they are completely gone.

In reply, I grab the bottom of his shirt and lead him over to where we'd laid a couple blankets down earlier. I look him square in the eyes. "This is what I want," I say, and as if to prove it I take off my blouse and pants, leaving me shivering in my underclothes, slightly from the cold but mostly from anticipation. Apparently this is all the convincing Peeta needs, and he sheds his shirt, then scoops me up and places me down gently on the pile of blankets.

I run my fingers through the fine blond hair on his chest, caressing muscle and burn scars alike, and eliciting a soft moan from his lips. His hands mirror mine, and his fingers make their way underneath my undershirt, encircling my navel, moving along my ribs, running up and down the valley between my breasts. The callouses on his hands create a friction that I can only describe as being absolutely exquisite.

My undershirt is suddenly a nuisance, a barrier keeping us apart. Peeta slowly lifts it off of me, throws it on top of his own, and pauses to take in what he's uncovered. His hands caress my skin almost reverently, like I am something to be worshipped. Most of my body is still covered in faded burn scars and skin grafts, but the way he looks at me, touches me, makes me feel like I am perfect. Flawless. His mouth renews it's assault on my neck, but his kisses trail further and further down until he takes a nipple into his mouth, and my whole body begins to tremble and I can feel a dampness surging between my legs. I can only imagine that Peeta's in a similar state of arousal.

I unbutton and tug off his pants and position myself on top of him, straddling him. I can feel the growing stiffness between his legs rub up against me, and it sends little sparks through my limbs. His hands find their way to the small of my back and then down between the elastic of my underwear. I'm done with clothing. So is he.

I've never been very comfortable with nudity, but I'm not embarrassed when he looks at me now, nor when I look at him. Quite the opposite really. It seems like the most sensual, natural thing in the world, and I am overcome with desire, my body demanding to have him inside of me. I take a deep breath and give in to the demand. Nothing could have prepared me for the sensation of heat and hardness that plunges into me, and a cry escapes my lips. Peeta clutches at my hips as I grind up against him, trying to maintain a hold despite the sheen of sweat on both of our bodies that make it almost impossible.

Minutes pass, maybe an hour, and our breathing becomes more labored, our groans more and more audible. His hands move all over me, teasing, exploring, and I shudder beneath his every touch. I drive him into me harder and harder, determined to satisfy my own growing hunger. Our hips never part or cease moving, but Peeta pulls me down to him, my chest pressed up against his. With one arm wrapped around my back and the other in my hair, he kisses me, and starts thrusting into me with reckless abandon . The sensation is overwhelming, and suddenly every single nerve in my body is singing. Peeta lets out a noise that almost sounds like he's in pain, but between the contented groans that follow and the blissful look on his face, I know it was one of pleasure.

Exhausted, I have to practically roll myself off of him, and I nestle my head on his chest. His breathing slows as he strokes my arm with one hand and pulls the blanket on top of us with the other. I watch his face, firelight playing across his forehead, the bridge of his nose, those lips that have kissed me everywhere. He doesn't say anything for a long time. "Katniss," he shakes his head, "that was more than I even…" he pauses, seemingly unsure of how to continue. But I know what he means without him having to say it, so I kiss him to keep him from speaking because we don't need any more words tonight. I fall asleep listening to his heart beating.

A blast of icy cold air and blinding light tears me out of my dreamless state, and I open one eye to see that the door has blown open. I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes. It's when my eyes refocus on the open door that I see that the door hasn't blown open. It's been opened by Haymitch, mouth hanging open in surprise.


End file.
